


Sweetening The Loaves

by Missy



Category: Little House on the Prairie - Laura Ingalls Wilder
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Family, Married Couple, Married Life, Memories, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 20:37:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11836602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: Caroline doesn't remember that it's her anniversary until halfway through breakfast.





	Sweetening The Loaves

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maidenjedi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maidenjedi/gifts).



> Canonically, this can comfortably slide between Silver Lake and Long Winter!

Caroline’s completely forgotten the date by the time she’s rolled out of bed. 

There’s simply too much to _do_. In the foggy, ice-cold morning, she stumbles along, wincing at the chill of the room, pouring wood on the stove, stoking it before the girls rise to circle around the round red glowing belly of it as she cooks mush and pours milk. There is bread, thankfully, and good butter churned by her own hands even though the snow has begun to drift and pile outside the door. It stops coming down just past daybreak for once – A February miracle. Charles has stomped through the high snow and come back from the barn before heading into town, and there is a pail of milk sitting nearby. She smashes through the icy cover crystallizing the milk and starts to make cambric tea for her daughters.

 _Charles_. Remembering his name brings back the memory of the date, and what it means to her. She’d forgotten all about it! Her mind searches up what’s left in the stores. There’s butter, there’s flour- enough sugar. She wonders if the hens are still laying like they ought to be. 

“Ma?” Laura asks, her bright eyes curious as she takes her mother in as always. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” says Caroline quickly. She’s already turned toward the stove and begun to gather her wares. “Why don’t you and Mary take your slates and mind your sisters? I believe you’d both be wonderful.”

Mary does as is requested of her without complaint, carefully moving across the room with very little assistance, but Laura – good though she’s become – still has that wild look of disappointment in her eyes. Caroline loves all of her girls equally, but the fierceness in little Laura always calls out to her. 

Always remindsd her of the wildness inside of her own heart.

 

 

****

**~~ &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&~~**

 

 

Memories keeps Caroline company as she kneads the day's baking into shape. She remembers quite clearly the young woman who had met with Charles fourteen years ago; she merry-eyed and laughing, too often cooped up at that one-room schoolhouse in Pepin, looking for some kind of adventure. Charles had been full of stories himself, lively as she, with a big grin and gentleness that belies his rugged, rough and tumble ways. He can roughhouse – hunt and track and work backbreakingly hard. But with his daughters and with his wife – indeed, with his whole family – he is another man entirely.

“What are you making, Ma?” Laura has come into the kitchen in her shawl and calico – tall, so very tall, very much a reflection of her father. 

“Dessert for tonight’s meal,” she says. “And would you check the beans?”

“Yes Ma,” Laura says, and her eyes had lit up at the notion of dessert. “What’s the special occasion?”

She smiled. “Think on your days, Laura.”

Laura ‘s brow quirks, and Caroline can’t rightfully blame her for losing track of everything; the days seem endless, dealing with the constant chill and presence of the snow. Then she understands – quite quickly, the clever girl, and her eyes blink wide. “Oh Ma, happy anniversary!”

She smiles. “I won’t expect anything from the four of you but good behavior,” she declares. It’s more than enough at this point, and honestly she’s been so sweet, so good with Mary, more patient and more imaginative than ever.

“You’ll have something more than that,” Laura says grandly. “Mary! Let’s take the girls out to play.”

“Are you sure?” Mary asks. She’d been busy with Grace and Carrie, teaching them how to count by use of small, dried beans left over from Caroline’s cooking; an easy task for a sightless girl.

“Ma needs a little bit of peace,” Laura says, smiling as she heads toward the door, her heavy wrap already thrown rakishly over her shoulder. Mary follows, quite carefully picking her way along, her own wrap tied tightly upon her head, Carrie’s hand in hers, and Grace toddling at her ankle. Her girls are wonderful. Her girls are strong as a thick oak branch.

She and Charles have done well for themselves.

 

 

****

**~~ &&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&~~**

 

 

The air smells like tea cake and beans by the time the girls come in, laughing and red-nosed, to gather around the cookstove. Soon after, Charles comes home from the store, stomping the snow from his boots and striding right up to her, still chilled and red-cheeked from the outside world. His lips brush her cheek and he pulls her into a bear hug. 

A thousand memories are wrapped up in his touch; the feeling of his hands at her corseted waist, leading a merry jig; the feeling of his arms around her waist as she labored in pain; the sight of them on the reins, driving their wagon across the sun-blasted prairie; the squeeze of her fingers around his when the crops failed, when the land was taken, when their son died; his dazed eyes looking at her from across the bed, half-comprehending as they suffered from the fever and ague. 

_I’m sicker’n you, Charles._

“Happy anniversary,” he grins, taking a package from the pocket of his pants and handing it over. He’d been down to the general store; the package is new, the twine fresh and expensive looking. 

“Lands,” she mutters, untying his impossible knot, “You didn’t need to spend so much.” 

“Of course I did,” he says. “You deserve the best.”

She unfolds each object carefully. A length of fine muslin. A spool of pink thread. Sacks of sugar and of white flour. He grins when she reaches the very bottom, scratches the back of his head, watches her gently unwrap the material, watches her pull out a small heart-shaped locket of hammered gold. 

“I thought your beautiful neck desserved its due,” Charles says, coming around to clasp the charm gently.

“This must have cost you a fortune,” she says.

“It’s worth the price,” he says. Then kisses her shoulder. “Tonight, the present’ll be all mine. Won’t that be something?” 

She elbows him, her propriety scorched. “Charles!”

He laughs that booming laugh of his. “Call the girls,” he suggests. “We’ll have our beans and the last of your good biscuits. Mary’s been churning all day, we should do her hard work credit.”

She smiles. “Those girls of ours have been conspiring mighty hard,” she says. 

“I imagine they’ve created something wonderful,” says Charles. “Wonderful recognizes wonderful,” says her husband. “I’ll bring my fiddle out if you’ll dance for me, Caroline.”

“Always, Charles.”


End file.
